


The King of the Lost

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle, Boys Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, Concern, Darkness, Daydreaming, Desire, Dream Sex, Dreams and Nightmares, Elves, Falling In Love, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Flashbacks, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Forests, Giant Spiders, Groping, Help, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Orcs, Outdoor Sex, Pining, Porn With Plot, Rescue Missions, Reveal, Rough Kissing, Rutting, Scents & Smells, Smut, Some Humor, Thranduil mentioned, Wet Dream, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24111970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: Bard shifted in place to find the hobbit tending a small fire and pulling out an equally tiny kettle from his satchel.“Do you take a compact kitchen everywhere you go?” he asked bemusedly as Bilbo filled it with something from the waterskin hanging on his waist. “Is this a hobbit thing?”“Of course,” Bilbo replied matter-of-factly. (Even though it was probably more just a “Bilbo” thing). “One must always be prepared for tea. It is the only thing better than water, after all.”“That’s debatable,” Bard chuckled and wiggled closer to the flickering flame, wringing his calloused hands before busying only his right. Unearthing a few dried berries, he handed some to Bilbo and scarfed down the rest.Somewhere between that and Bard wiping some dirt off his trousers, Bilbo had produced a cake from his pockets.“What else do you have in there?!” Bard muttered. "A lamb's leg?!"_Legolas has been kidnapped by orcs. Bilbo and Bard the bowman embark upon an adventure to save the Elf from certain death, with the aid of Calen- tasked by Thranduil to assist in the search for his son.Bard keeps a deeply personal reason for wishing to secure Legolas' safety locked within his heart.
Relationships: Bard the Bowman & Legolas Greenleaf, Bard the Bowman/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	The King of the Lost

_It is the same dream he always has._

_The flash of a smile as glittering silver hair frames them like a curtain, a deep chuckle as pale fingers blaze a fiery trail down his taut body. The intense heat pools in his groin and a tortured groan escapes his throat.  
Softness grips his steel and rubs a finger around the glistening tip, stroking him firmly and with calculated calm.  
“I’ve missed you, my love.”_

_Greedy lips like bruised summer fruit come up to capture his and their tongues tangle, tasting and sucking- licking until his head is foggy and his pulse is a battle drum pounding in his ears.  
A full mouth feather-kisses devastating caresses down his chest, a tongue flicking out and dipping into his navel, swirling as it descends lower._

_He arches up from the bed as pleasure courses through his core and spreads out to his limp limbs. The hand assists the one rigid thing on him- his climb approaching faster and faster.  
It takes on a disjointed rhythm, much like his lover’s breathing. The movement is feverish, urgent. When his own breath hitches, the etched tissues of his stomach rippling, it slows just enough to gift him climax.  
It is pure, blissful… and tortuous._

_Before their lips lock once more, the scene flips like pages in an ancient book._

_Silver hair is dappled in blood from a bleeding gash on his pale temple. His lover is strung up, arms bound far above his head, and his clothes torn, indicative of a previous struggle.  
An Orc laughs, a dark gurgling sound that escapes from behind rows and rows of dirty teeth and a copper-stained smile.  
The others follow suit, cackling and shrieking as they tear into a body that hangs opposite the Elf. They revel in the taste of the fetid corpse, fighting amongst themselves for the best pieces of tendon and muscle.  
The Elf’s handsome face contorts in disgust._

_“You will tell us where it is, Elf, or die!” An orc growls, his hideous features morphing into something monstruous as he brandishes a curved knife._

_“I’ll tell you nothing, orc.” The Elf snarls and earns a backhand for his troubles. He spits a mouthful of blood at the stones below his feet. He’d been tempted to spray it in his face but the creature might have actually enjoyed that.  
The orc raises an arm to strike him once more._

_“Careful,” another growls wetly. “We must find out what he knows because the Great One wants him alive.”_

_“We’ll keep him alive, all right," the keeper simpers. "But no one said anything about him keeping all his limbs.”  
The orc chortles and turns back with evil determination. The prisoner struggles with his bindings in vain, the ropes cutting into his fair skin, trailing crimson rivulets down his arms._

___

Bard the bowman jolted up from sleep, gasping for air.  
His heart thudded in his chest, body slick with perspiration. He could almost taste the stench of the nasty creatures on his tongue. His eyes, which depending on the time of day decided if they were bark or moss, darted around the room expecting to see their vile faces in the shadows.

Much to his relief, the room was empty and serene, just the way it had always been.  
The kingdom of Dale was quiet this night and its residents were sound asleep, blissfully unaware of their King’s disturbing dream.  
Bard’s body was at odds with itself, however. Painfully aroused yet fearful of the terrible scene he’d just witnessed unveiling in his mind, a hand closed over his moist forehead.

Taking a few rib-stretching breaths and trying to shake away the images from his nocturnal terrors, he convinced himself that it was indeed just a fabrication of the worst hidden corners of his mind.  
Albeit a very realistic one, it was indeed fiction.   
  
He hadn’t seen the elf in so long, and while he liked to believe Legolas was pining after him in kind, he prayed the second part of the nightmare to be untrue.  
I need not worry, he told himself. The elf had an entire army of archers to protect him- his father would never let harm befall him.  
Bard missed him terribly and it was his… _affection_ for him that made his face fall the slightest bit.  
He was King. He had his responsibilities in Dale and could not be pulled away into what was at this point an unfounded reason to journey.  
The thought nagged at him all the same. Should he send a messenger to Tauriel asking after him?

A flash of light speared the sky and sparing a glance outside, he found that it had begun to rain. Pregnant drops splattered across the glass, soft as a baby’s footsteps in their intrusion. Another strike of lightning danced across the heavens as though two wizards were battling out some long forgotten hostility.  
Blaming his nightmare on the onset of the inclement weather, he prepared to go back to sleep and hopefully, experience a continuation of the _first_ reverie. 

The rain fell harder, rattling his window. When it grew more violent, he realized it wasn’t just the downpour- there was an insistent knocking on his chamber door which competed for his attention.  
  
Bard rose from his bed with a weary sigh, alert and annoyed once more. Reflex had him reaching for a crossbow.  
The Elves always said that only those who were not resistant to the swaying of the trees were best prepared for the unexpected, and Bard lived by that creed.  
Lately he'd been thinking too much about elves. 

“Your majesty?” A guard poked his head through the oak door. “There is a Hobbit here to see you, sire.”

“What? A hobbit in Dale? At this time of night?!” The news was both bewildering and troubling.

“He says it is a matter of great urgency,” the guard replied.

“All right. Have him meet me in the Solar room.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Bard draped a robe onto his broad shoulders and strode towards the room he’d had built for solely recreational purposes. (He couldn’t very well meet everyone in the throne room, it was a bit taxing having to raise your voice every time a person met you for counsel).

The guards nodded at him as he passed and belatedly he realized he didn’t ask which hobbit it was. To his luck they were neither a violent nor a cunning species and he could very well best one in combat.  
Bard passed the threshold and stopped short in surprise. He supposed he should have expected _this_ particular hobbit.

Bilbo Baggins sat in a chair far too large for his kind's frame. He was drenched like a rat, and shivering beneath a blanket one of his men must have given him.  
A most despairing look marred his face and upon sighting Bard, he stumbled to his feet, nearly falling off the seat in the process.  
Short legs hurried towards him, nearly dropping the cup of tea he was gripping until he safely placed it on the nearby table.

“I didn't expect to see you. Why have you come here, Mr. Baggins? Is there trouble in the Shire?”

“Oh no Mr. Bard, thank goodness. Your majesty... sir... this concerns Legolas. I fear he is in grave danger.”  
The hobbit’s tone was bereft of its usual softness, worry raising it to near ear-piercing levels.

The words lanced through the bowman, taking him back to the nightmare that had awoken him mere moments ago.  
Surely it was all a figment of imagination and not real life? He wasn’t the type of person who saw visions in his dreams. Bard saw himself as a normal man, (and Legolas wasn’t an elf who could be taken by disorganized orcs). He was one of the most powerful elves he knew and a phenomenal archer. Famed even among his kind.  
From beneath his furrowed brow, Bard indicated the pavement with a shift of gaze.  
“You must explain yourself at once, Hobbit Baggins. And you’re still dripping rain water on my floor.”

“Oh heavens,” the Hobbit squeaked, distressed at the thought the Bowman would think he was lying on his or someone’s behalf. (And terribly flustered at having made such a mess!)  
Grabbing at the blanket, he rubbed it on himself, trying to dry off as much moisture as possible. “Gandalf told me.”

“ _Told you_?” Bard’s dark eyebrow shooting up was the question mark.  
No one had seen the Istar wizard since the battle of the five armies and for him to just ‘show himself’ to Bilbo Baggins was a matter of significant concern.

At his tone, Bilbo seemed to calm down and shrink back, the water now a small puddle on the stones beneath him.  
Casting his eyes about the room, he refused to meet Bard’s questioning ones. To be honest the man frightened him at times.  
Murmuring unintelligibly, he wrung his hands into the blanket, bunching the soft material into his palms.

“You’re going to have to repeat that Hobbit, I don’t speak nervous.”  
Bard spoke the words slowly. His patience was running thin, but in his experience, raising his tone often chased away vital parts of information from the interlocutor's memories.

“In my dreams,” Bilbo replied softly, chest deflating. “He came to me in my dreams.”

Catching the look on Bard’s face, he cleared his throat and dug up some courage.  
Rubbing into his sopping hair, he continued. “Gandalf, funny wizard. He, um… came to me in my dreams and told me Legolas has been taken. Orcs, he said. Of course, I told him that was ridiculous as the elf is far too strong to be captured by those foul creatures of the night. However, he insisted that Legolas was indeed in great danger. He told me to rush here to inform you without delay. He said you would understand and react in kind. And... well, being a friend and of enormous help to us during the battle of the five armies, I couldn’t very well refuse,” the words spilled from him in haste.

Looking up carefully, sure that Bard would burst into laughter and have him escorted out of the castle and possibly even Dale, he squared his shoulders for a graceful exit. Well, as graceful as he, a hobbit, could manage.  
His sky eyes widened in surprise at the seriousness in Bard’s own murky visage. The man believed everything Bilbo said and was momentarily lost in thought.  
He should have known Bard would take him seriously. He was a careful ruler, always heeding warnings and preparing for the worst.

“So it wasn’t a nightmare.” The bowman leaned back, rump pressing into the edge of the table.  
“A nightmare?” It was Bilbo’s turn to ask.

And so Bard narrated the contents of his dream, tactfully leaving out the first part and his misgivings about the whole situation. When he finished, Bilbo nodded slowly and went back to pick up his cup of tea to warm his frigid hands.

“I see. However, this is Gandalf we speak of. A most peculiar character who never does things the common way. If you and I both had dreams about Legolas, it must be true.”

Bard rose to his feet suddenly and began pacing the room, several scenarios flying around his head. He would entrust the running of Dale to his eldest son, this would serve as a lesson in the ruling, and should he die, his most trusted advisor Ellis would teach the boy well.  
After a few moments, he stopped and speared the Hobbit with an urgent look.

“We must leave at once,” he declared, the concern for Legolas gripping his aching heart.

“Yes. Yes,” Bilbo nodded, then he realized what Bard just said. “Wait. _We?_ ”

“Yes we, Bilbo Baggins, you are coming with me. You cannot expect me to go alone.”

“Me? But I’m useless in battle! If anything, I’m actually a hindrance.”

“Not with that sword you’re not. You have a habit of escaping dire situations unscathed,” Bard replied reassuringly, crossing his powerful arms across his chest.

Bilbo blushed, “You are right, Mr. Bard.”  
Mister. King. Sire. Bilbo was so tongue-tied he didn’t know how to address him when he got so flustered!  
“Excellent. How many men will you be taking?”

The bowman smiled grimly. “Oh no Mr. Baggins, twill be you and I. We will take this perilous journey on our own as to not draw suspicion or attention to ourselves. It wouldn’t do to take my men on the prophecies of dreams, either, now would it?”

“Oh I’m sure they’ll follow you anywhere your majesty,” the Hobbit said acerbically.

“Well I’m not taking that chance,” he strode towards the door. “Get some rest Hobbit, for you look weary. My guard will show you to a room. We leave at first light.”  
“But that’s... that's in 2 hours…”  
“Precisely.”

_

Legolas was not sure how much more he would last in the hands of these disgusting orcs. They had unbound him and thrust him into a sturdy cage with nothing but the torn clothes on his back, leaving his open wounds to fester until they healed.   
They had taken their time torturing him on loop, slashing open his skin and waiting for closure – only to repeat the process. They wanted a ring of some sort, and despite the many times he told them he did not understand what they spoke of, they seemed convinced that he had it.  
If he had the damn ring, (and which ring were they talking about?!) he would have at least lied to them about its location to be able to break free.

 _‘Rhaich’_ he spat in Elvish, disappointed with himself.  
In any case, his isolation behind bars gave him ample time for diversion. To reflect on memories he thought he had locked away.  
He looked down at the malevolent creatures as they feasted on the bodies of his people. Judging by the garb they donned, his father must have sent them believing this band enough to rescue him from the beasts.  
They were not and it left Legolas gutted.

His rescuers had been taken down in mere minutes, overwhelmed by the countless forces of evil. He could only watch, helpless as they were mercilessly murdered.  
A voice within swore revenge. Fantasizing about the day it would come- and it would- for the moment he would have to take succor in his more… pleasurable memories.

He remembered a day of battle when his blood ran hot in his veins as he cut down orc after orc, reveling in their screams and their goblin blood drenching the earth. He remembered his partner in combat, Bard. A kind, powerful man who proposed a small competition between them, telling him the loser would grant a boon to the winner.  
The boon, a fantastic one it was, so potent he could almost taste it again on his parched tongue. Legolas shivered just thinking back to the bowman’s ghost touch on his body.  
If he concentrated hard enough, (and that was no difficult deed for this recollection stayed very close to the fringe of his conscious mind), it was almost like being there again.  
  
Bard's smile- arrogant and a little bit wistful, rekindled a fire in his heart.   
  
He liked to think that bit of wistfulness was because of him. For Legolas loved Bard as he had never loved another, although the latter would never admit it, content in sharing his company and taking small doses of pleasure from his body when time and circumstance allowed.  
Legolas wondered if Bard ever thought of him. He desperately hoped he did, because the bowman never failed to fill Legolas’ musings or invade his reveries, awake or not.  
If he ever escaped the clutches of these monsters, he decided he’d run straight into the arms of his beloved – reveal to him how deeply and irrevocably his feelings truly consumed him.

“Ready to talk, Elf?” An orc interrupted his daydreaming, transforming his longing face into a scowl.  
Its hideous face was enough to put anyone in a foul mood. The rest of the band skittered along the many bridges and passages, running in and out with various pieces of meat that Legolas was loathed to inspect further.

“Go away, orc. You are not worth my breath.”

“Hear that boys?” the Orc’s stare glittered with malice as he chuckled grotesquely. “He thinks we’re not worth his time.”

They cackled, falling over themselves with laughter and eyeing him with mad eyes.

“What do you say we show him a good time?” The Orc who led them suggested with glee. To this the rest howled in agreement, shrieking curses and hatred as the Orc yanked open the cage which held Legolas.

All he needed was an opening, he thought. Then he could escape and make haste to Dale.

_

Bilbo pulled his cloak closer to shield against the biting cold of night, casting his eyes about the unlit road.  
Worry etched on his normally quiet countenance. They had been riding for two hours and Bard showed no signs of slowing down despite the chill. It had Bilbo wondering if perhaps there was something else apart from duty that spurred the man onward.  
After much speculation, they had chosen to pass through Mirkwood mountains to reach the Misty Mountains where the Orcs dwelled.

Hopefully, they would come in contact with Thandruil who might give them some insight as to why his son had been taken. (Not that any of them were looking forward to it, the king of the Wood-elves was as insufferable as he was proud).

It had been an otherwise uneventful journey but now and then, Bilbo’s neck would tingle with awareness, the hairs there standing to attention. He would hasten his horse’s steps to catch up with Bard.  
When it got too much for him, he whirled around wildly, looking for what had caused it.

“Keep up Hobbit,” Bard’s voice floated back to him. “Time is of the essence. No time for your panicked tantrums.”  
He tried to mask the concern straining his voice. The icy coil worked its way further down his spine, though.

“We’re being watched Bard, I can feel it.” Or maybe it was just hunger? It was way past first breakfast and his tummy was grumbling. 

“If we were being watched, I would know. Now hurry up.”

Seven hours in, Bilbo was tilting at the edges and the pony which he rode on was panting heavily, its lungs pumping powerfully to accommodate the stress. He was just about ready to collapse and noticing this, Bard stopped just at the mouth of the forest declaring they would rest there a while.

“Oh, thank heavens!” The Hobbit flopped onto the ground, putting a hand to his thumping chest. His sore bottom spoke to him as if they had ridden for a fortnight and yet, they had barely begun their journey.   
Bilbo immediately thought of food.   
Bard’s never left Legolas, worried about what was happening to him. What if they were too late?! He couldn't bear the possibility. How would he manage to...   
  
He couldn’t fathom what the elf was going through. He preferred not to because otherwise his one mission would be to save him NOW, meaning he'd leave Bilbo here and speed off.  
Bard couldn't do that to someone he'd promised to travel with and protect. Even though Bilbo was one of the most capable hobbits he'd ever encountered by name and reputation, he would not be able to survive the journey home without assistance.   
  
Bard shifted in place to find the hobbit tending a small fire and pulling out an equally tiny kettle from his satchel.  
“Do you take a compact kitchen everywhere you go?” he asked bemusedly as Bilbo filled it with something from the waterskin hanging on his waist. “Is this a hobbit thing?”  
“Of course,” Bilbo replied matter-of-factly. (Even though it was probably more just a “Bilbo” thing). “One must always be prepared for tea. It is the only thing better than water, after all.”  
  
“That’s debatable,” Bard chuckled and wiggled closer to the flickering flame, wringing his calloused hands before busying only his right. Unearthing a few dried berries, he handed a bunch to Bilbo and scarfed down the rest.

“So” Bilbo began with a cough. Not ones for companionable silences, Bard groaned and Bilbo wormed around uncomfortably in his place.   
“How long have you two known each other?”

“Not long,” Bard took a swig of water. _I wish I had met him years ago, though._

“Why do suppose they took him?”

“I’m not sure. I know they are looking for someone or something and they believe he can lead them to him or it. If that’s vague enough for you.”  
Bard rubbed his stubble thoughtfully, trying to remember what the Orcs had talked about in his dream. At the same time he willed himself to cut out Legolas’ tortured face and morph it into the one slack with carnal pleasure.

“Do you think they want his father?” Somehow, Bilbo had produced a cake from his pockets and was now munching on it.

“Ye gods, Bilbo! What else do you have in there?!” Bard muttered. What would materialize next, a lamb's leg?  
“I always carry cake."  
Ignoring the reply, the bowman shook his head. "I… I doubt it. There’s nothing Thranduil possesses that could be of interest to those cursed creatures. Although…”  
  
Pinching his chin, something glimmered in his liquid eyes. “Although I have heard a rumor about a ring.”

“A ring?” Bilbo’s face took on the color of used soap. It burned the place in his pocket.  
The cake tipped precariously between his quivering lips.

“Yes, a ring. An all-powerful one at that. If anyone’s got something like that, it would be the Elves, they like magical items.”

“Not the Dwarves? They could have forged it, you know.” A dusting of crumbs fell from Bilbo’s garments to the ground.

“Definitely the Elves.”

“Oh my.”  
At this, Bilbo went silent with guilt. Bard had the sudden thought maybe he should not have told one who’s nickname was Burglar about an all-powerful ring that gave its wearer special abilities. Shrugging off the worry as it wasn't at all important to the present, he slapped the dirt off his breeches and made to stand.  
“Finish your tea and prepare to leave.”

An order was an order. Bilbo stomped out the fire and once again the kettle disappeared into his satchel while he polished off the rest of the cake in one bite. Its metal was a brand against his leg, still warm from the heat, but they couldn't spare another moment. Bilbo held the satchel away from him until he safely hung it on his pony's lacings.   
  
He hoped they would make it in time to rescue Legolas as the elf did not deserve whatever torture he was being dealt. What a predicament this was indeed.   
  
Bilbo gazed up at the giant trees of the Mirkwood and a rush of nostalgia and trepidation overtook him. The last time he was here was with a band of dwarves who had wasted no time in abandoning him when they saw fit, causing him to deceive an unfortunate creature to find his way out of the cave in which he'd been stranded.  
Mounting his pony and waving away Bard’s impatient looks, they ventured into the treacherous forest.

Dark and seemingly endless with thick trees and shadowy boughs, Mirkwood struck fear in the hearts of its visitors. Once a forest of incredible beauty and refreshing vitality, it was now tainted by foul magic and inhabited by terrible creatures. The age-worn trees were lined with bark like mottled skin and twisted branches towered high above them in varying shades of sickening brown. It all formed a dark canopy and blotted out the sun.  
Cobwebs shimmered like Mithril in the sooty darkness, their snare-nests wriggling and writhing with creatures.  
Neither Bilbo nor Bard desired to take a closer look.

Evil creatures and black-hearted men ran amok and stayed hidden within the shadows of the forest, coming out only when prey was sighted and descending on it like wolves to meat. As Gandalf said once before, _Do not stray off the beaten path_ and the two of them were doing their damndest to heed his advice. The forest’s many hidden trails and undiscovered treasures tempted one to veer away and pursue them. Its magic was that strong and hypnotic.

The air was cloying and thick, threatening to overwhelm their senses as they nudged their horses through the forest. Bilbo flinched every time a rotten branch snapped under the hooves of his pony, his eyes shifting to every ominous shadow and suspicious gleam, nose twitching in fear. Birds flew overhead, flapping from branch to branch, and animals ran across the woody terrain, tearing away as soon as they were spotted.  
He wished they had a map with them, though it would have been useless in the dark.

Bard urged his animal forward, trying his best to ignore the Hobbit’s nervousness lest it bled into him. They had been here once before, he would not let himself fall prey to any beast. He turned back several times to check on Bilbo, ensuring he stayed on the path.

Once more, his thoughts drifted to Legolas and that one time they both gave in to their desires after a particularly exhilarating battle against Goblins. They had been ambushed on their way to Minas Tirith to deliver the Ariastone when a band of Orcs melted out of the bushes.  
_

_“I believe we are at a draw this time around,” Bard declared, a broad grin tugging at his handomse face, cheeks reddened from the heat of battle (and undeniable desire)._

_Sweeping up his silver hair, which had come apart as he fought, Legolas scoffed and pulled out a band from one of his pockets. “Believe what you want. But I got 12 of them before you could even notch an arrow, my dear.”_

_The affectionate name brought heat into Bard’s belly. He grinned arrogantly and inched closer to Legolas.“Is that so? Don’t know how you Elves count, but for Men, twelve orcs are twelve orcs.”_

_“So who gets the reward?” Legolas asked coyly, all his focus on Bard’s beautiful pout.  
As the bowman neared, he moved liquidly, with the grace of a silent predator.  
He was in apnea himself, something caught in his throat that was making his eyes water.  
  
Neither of them wanted to drag their gazes away, nor could they even if they tried.  
The Elf before him had a very intent look that lit up his soul. It sent shivers through his weakening appendages and straight down into his swelling cock. _

_“What do you say we both get the reward?” Bard suggested, halting in front of Legolas. He scanned the Elf’s long, fixed stare, looking for any sign of refusal.  
There was none. Not even a twitch. Instead, little puffs of air told him his breaths had quickened and if he was going by the tent in his fellow archer's breeches, he was not alone in this tortuous need._

_Legolas was a particularly breathtaking elf, with the signature sharp elfin features further enhanced by the unknown quality of his mother’s blood. No one knew what species, but whatever it was, it made Legolas stunning.  
Bard sucked in a breath as ice-kissed eyes locked with his, today deciding they were ivy._

_“Do you know?” Legolas began as he caught Bard’s collar between index and thumb. He fingered lightly at the fabric._

_“Do I know what?” Bard swallowed hard.  
He very well knew what he was doing to Legolas, and he loved it. His pert mouth curled into a smirk at the bobbing of the Elf’s Adam’s apple as he tried to gather words.  
He’d never seen Legolas nervous, it was fascinating.  
A perfunctory look at himself would prove his throbbing, stiffened member was also not immune to the elf's wily charms._

_Legolas cleared his throat and made to step back, then in a split second, changed his mind and fell forward.  
  
“Did you know, bowman, that Elves and Man do not come together?”  
_ _“Oh?” Bard squinted, pupils fixated and blown black- their attention was all for Legolas’ lips. Would their silkiness be as creamy as they appeared?_

_A taste would suffice, he told himself. Just one taste._

_“Is it forbidden then?” he asked, but not because he cared. Barring a strike on them from the heavens, nothing would stop him from kissing this Elf in a minute._

_“Not at all…” they were face to face now, two breaths separating them from each other, their intentions, much like their words, taking shape in the cold.  
The weather was enough to freeze a man’s sweat on his forehead, but they were both giving off enough heat to keep each other warm._

_“Just…just discouraged.” his voice trailed off as a hesitant digit mapped a path to Bard's firm belly.  
Legolas grinned. Their appetite for one another was ravenous.   
_ _  
The elf slammed into him without warning. Bard pressed his lips to Legolas’ plush ones, a soft, slow kiss that immediately deepened, shaking him to his toes.  
  
The world shrunk to just the two of them as they reveled in each other’s heat, tongues darting out to dance and bodies pressed so close man and elf were indistinguishable.  
_ _They do come together, discouraged or not, and it's something just short of divine when it happens!_

_If they had been set upon by orcs at that moment, neither of them was sure they would have been able to pull apart from each other.  
They need to be one- it pumped through their veins, igniting their blood in the chilly air. Tilting Legolas’ head, Bard changed the tempo of the kiss. It became even harder, faster- wrangling for dominance.  
The two devoured each other, the ferocity of their mouths daring their roving hands to keep up._

_Inhaling deeply, Bard pulled off the band tying Legolas’ hair, burying them in the voluminous tresses as they cascaded past his shoulders. He’d always wondered what the Elf would feel like in his hands, on his cock, wrapped around his fist.  
The appetizer was looking very promising.   
The Elf slanted his head and reached behind Bard to grip his ass - urging their sexes closer.  
"Legolas," Bard whimpered, grinding his aching groin against the elf's, groaning at the immense pleasure from the friction. _

_Legolas sucked on Bard’s tongue softly, nipping at his pillow lips in between kisses. The man’s laments sent a sharp twitch of pleasure to his sex and it thickened in its sheath, threatening to burst out of his covering.  
Just as Bard circled his waist and fumbled with the fastenings on his pants, they realized where they were. As quickly as the blaze had fed off their need, it was doused.  
They pulled apart slowly, reluctantly. Tongues first, then lips.  
Legolas’ mouth was slick and bruised. Bard panted, running the back of his hand up his lover’s cheek. _

_“That was quite the boon” Legolas breathed. “Perhaps, one day, I'll offer mine."_

_“Yes,” Bard agreed, the ache in his groin unbearable. "Perhaps one day."  
He had told himself a taste would suffice, but now he was sure that was a lie.  
_  
_

“Sire?” How in the bloody hell was he supposed to call him?! "Mr. Bard?"  
Bilbo’s voice pulled him from his memories and Bard focused his eyes to find that the hobbit had stopped and was gesturing at him wildly.  
He froze in his tracks.  
  
“Did you hear that?” Bilbo whispered quite loudly, eyes saucered.

“What is it?” Bard asked, whipping out his Yew bow and quickly notching an arrow.

“Listen,” The Hobbit replied, putting a hairy hand to his ears.

Together, they focused, and then Bard heard it. A wet rattle. Looking around, he realized they had ventured quite some ways into the black forest and had probably attracted the attention of several creatures. Loosing an arrow toward the sound’s origin, he urged his horse forward with a gentle nudge.  
How stupid of him, reminiscing about that damn elf when he should have been focused on the mission.  
But the mission was about the damn elf!

“Um Bard er- your majesty, might we take another path? It is not too late to turn back.”

“Be quiet.”

A branch snapped and something came barreling at them and launched itself at the bowman and his horse. The horse whinnied and reared as Bard fired again and pulled the reins.  
When the creature sailed over them it landed on the ground. By some miracle, the bowman stayed atop the horse and yelled at Bilbo to go.

It was something born of darkness and malevolence, dark as pitch and covered in thousands upon thousands of fine threadlike strands. It towered over them, its many eyes gleaming like silver coins in the moonlight, a mass of limbs and sharp teeth, clicking madly as it clacked towards them with impressive speed, sharp pincers digging into the soft earth.  
Bard searched its approaching body feverishly, desperately trying to find a weakness as his arrows had bounced off its armor-like skin.

“What in all of the earth is it?!” He yelled at Bilbo, expression stricken.  
They wouldn’t be killed here. Not on his watch. Not when Legolas was out there in need of help.

“A Child of Ungoliant, a Great Spider” the hobbit screeched, pushing his pony to go even faster as they raced away from the creature “And this one’s particularly furious with me!”

“Why the hell is that?” Bard notched another and loosed it, and then yet another. He missed each time. The spider crashed through the forest, maddened by each quiver thrown.

“I may have killed its children.”

“You _may have?_! And wait... what?! You understand it?!”

“Sometimes, they’re sapient,” Bilbo panted, scrambling to pull out his sword, Sting, from his breeches while still maintaining balance on his pony.

“Lovely,” Bard quipped, glancing back again. "Anything else I need to know?"  
  
It was gaining on them, clicking loudly as they raced through Mirkwood with the stealth of Oliphaunts. At the rate they were going, they’d wake every creature in the forest and draw them with their noise.  
Not wanting to fight even more Great Spiders and other unknown creatures, Bard made a decision.

Reigning his horse to a halt, he swung himself to the ground, simultaneously unsheathing a weapon on his hip.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bilbo asked, nearly losing control of his animal as the Spider bore towards them, snapping its pincers together. “Have you lost your mind?!”

“I’m standing and fighting, hobbit. Enough is enough.”

The spider leapt from tree to tree and sighting Bard, launched itself with blinding rage. The bowman sank to his knees and hefted his sword up, slashing the underbelly of the beast, closing his eyes as its stomach ripped above his head, drenching him in blood and guck.  
The spider skittered to a halt a few steps away from Bard and fixed its beady eyes upon him.  
Bard swiped his filthy blade in the air to dislodge the mess on it and brandished it once more against the creature.

It lunged at him again and this time succeeded in taking him down. Bard’s head hit the ground hard, the impact rattling his brains inside his skull. Dazed, he struggled to free himself from the spider’s grip as it lowered its head to his. Suddenly, the tip of something sharp appeared in between the spiders many eyes and curved upwards, separating it into two.  
Screeching, it flailed back and collapsed onto the ground, clicking and hissing as it went.  
After a while, it quieted and Bard lifted his pounding head to find the hobbit grinning at him, Sting in his hand.

“ _How did you do that_?” Bard asked as he drew himself to his tired feet, rubbing above his nape.

“An Elven blade. Fatal to evil spiders apparently,” he replied with a smirk as he studied it with admiration.

Unbelievable! “Should have led with that hobbit. Should have led with that.”

“Are you joking?! That thing was thrice my size!” Bilbo protested. “I had to wait for you to wear it down.”

“I see,” Bard wagged his aching skull. “Glad I could be of assistance, Bilbo.”

  
Looking around to where they were, he spied a stream up ahead. Grateful for one in this damned forest, he strode towards it intending to wash the gunk off and quench his thirst.

“Don’t Mr. Bard!” the hobbit cried as Bard neared the stream.  
Ignoring him, he bent with hands cupped, ready to take a scoop when a bemused voice stopped him

“I would listen to Bilbo Baggins, King of Dale. The Enchanted River takes the memories of those who drink from its waters.”

Bard looked up to locate the owner of the voice and came face to face with frostbitten eyes. It was an elf, Sindarin judging by the deeply shaded hair uncurled down his back.  
This one bore the haughty look of particularly proud elf folk (although it may have been the way his face was set- seeing as he had just warned the bowman off certain harm he felt satisfied with himself).  
He was dressed in the garb of Elven warriors, his armor slicked with the blood of orcs and whatever else he might have encountered in the forest.

“I am Calen, your majesty,” the Elf inclined his head, jet hair falling in a waves around his delicate face. “I have a message from the Elven King.”  
  
“All right then, Elf Calen, what is this message you have for me?” Bard tried to look as dignified as possible with goo running down his hair and spider blood soaking his skin and clothes. It was impossible not to squint at the resplendence of the Elf, even in his sullied garments.

“King Thranduil thanks you for your help in retrieving his son and asks that I give you these items to aid you on your journey.”  
It is only then that Bard noticed the items Calen was carrying. He handed a nut-brown quiver to Bard, informing the bowman that it will never run out of arrows until his mission is finished. Turning to Bilbo, he untied a small pouch from his waist and handed it to the Hobbit who immediately peered inside.

“Lembas bread. A small bite-"

“-Would fill the belly of a grown man” Bilbo finished. “How did you know we would be here?”

“My King saw it in a vision. I am to accompany you on your journey.”

“Accompany?” Bard repeated.

And so Calen told them of how Legolas was ambushed outside of the Elven King’s Halls and taken away by orcs. The king had sent Elven warriors after the creatures to retrieve his son, but they had yet to come back, which led them to suspect the involvement of a powerful wizard or some other force they didn't know about.

Bard’s worry deepened as he learned the full story. Now that he knew it had been days since Legolas was taken, he was itching to forge ahead and find him.  
He would uproot every tree and tear down every rock that stood in his way. He finally knew what this feeling was that clawed at his insides and he was damned if he would let Legolas die before he told him the truth: Bard loved him.

“Well, the more of us there are the better, I won’t be the one to refuse the help.”  
His voice was gruff as he strode back to his horse, mounting it in one leap. Calen walked up to him and took a long look at the beast.  
A hand reached out and caressed its long nose.

“You will not need horses where you are going, we will leave them here, my people will take them and care for them.”

Sighing, Bard unmounted. This elf could have told him before he saddled back up!  
Bilbo did the same, climbing down without much grace.  
After verifying once again that he could not even wash his hands in the Enchanted river, he wiped them on a piece of cloth Bilbo provided him and they set off at a brisk run.

They traveled for hours, only stopping for food and rest briefly, slicing through any orc they came in contact with like they were made of butter.  
Calen was a magnificent fighter, his sword flashing like lightning amidst the battle. It reminded Bard of Legolas and his twin blades, which pushed him even harder and harder to his hasten his retrieval.  
They reached the river Anduin where they fell upon the waters, drinking and scrubbing until they’d recouped enough to continue. At that point, Bard was aching to find Legolas. The worry was twisting his guts and constricting his lungs.  
  
The rage he harbored did not bode well for any monster they met along the way as he unleashed every bit of his wrath upon them.

“There it is,” Bilbo huffed, utterly exhausted from their journey. It would appear he was the only one since Calen had only just joined them and Bard seemed to have an inner well of endless energy.

The Misty Mountains were the home of the orcs and the location where they were convinced Legolas was being kept prisoner.  
The eerie mist swallowed the mountainous peaks, shielding the inhabitants of the same from passersby and providing a perfect cover for predators. There was never any sunlight in this area, it was cold and dark at all times of the day.

“How do we get in quickly?” Bard asked. “We can’t be expected to cover all that terrain.”

“I know an entrance,” Bilbo replied, pointing towards the top. “A cave, near the top of the High Pass.”

“How long will it take us?”

“Not very long if we’re fast.”

“Lead the way, Hobbit.”

They climbed quickly and quietly, ducking behind rocks whenever they heard any goblins. With how tired they were, they thought it best to save their strength for when they went inside, not wanting to engage any of them in combat beforehand.  
Bilbo led the way, nervous but surefooted, stopping a little to collect his memories to make sure they were on the right path.

At the cave, they ventured in quietly. Bard held up a notched arrow, Calen with his sword and Bilbo gripped his blade in one hand, the other fiddling in his cloak's hidden pocket.

"I see him," Calen hissed and as one, they looked down into Goblin-town. It was a huge cavern, comprising a vast number of bridges than ran into different passages and was flooded with orcs. Legolas sat within a cage, his hands firmly tied behind his back, his clothes torn and bloody just like Bard had seen in his dream.  
  
To see such beauty strangled by the darkness, Bard thought. Worry plowed his brow, jerking his spine upright.  
His love was in there, penned up and tortured like an animal- hurt and probably distraught that no one was coming for him.  
  
Calen focused in and quickly surveyed Legolas’ wounds. The gash on his forehead seemed to have healed, but there were newer cuts on his face and body. His head snapped up suddenly as if he had sensed something and they shrank back into the shadowy corners.

Seeing Legolas pulled something so hard in Bard’s chest that it stopped his breathing.   
He wanted to leap into the midst of the Orcs, cutting and stabbing as he went... he wanted to free arrows until the inexhaustible quiver was exhausted. Bard wished only to procure violence to every single goblin he came in contact with.  
It was caution and the hand Bilbo placed on his shoulder that made him restrain himself. He would die before he reached the elf, and then where would they be?

“I have something that could help” Bilbo whispered and he revealed a ring from his pocket. Calen hissed and leaned back away from the thing. Bard also perceived the malevolence emanating from it, even though he couldn’t place it or give it a name.

“What in seven hells is that?” Bard asked.

“It's a ring of power,” the Elf said with clenched teeth. “And you would do well to get rid of it, hobbit. Here, I’ll help you,” and he stretched out his hand for it.

“No!” the Hobbit clutched it to his chest and swiveled to watch Bard, keeping a close eye on the Elf from his vantage point.  
“This makes me invisible, so while you and Calen distract the orcs, I can go down there and free Legolas.”

Bard had questions, but there was no time. He nodded and pulled the resisting Elf away.  
What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? It was just a dumb ring probably some dwarves had lost.  
  
As soon as they turned around, Bilbo was nowhere to be found. Deciding to trust the hobbit, they crept along the walls, peering into caves until they found an empty one.

“I have something as well,” Bard grinned as he pulled it from his pouch. It was an explosive he’d bought from a dwarf nine months prior, who convinced him it could take down a small mountain if used properly.  
Hoping he had not been played for a fool, he planted it and lit it, sprinting away with Calen as it ignited.

The cavern shook with the explosion, sending goblins screeching and scrambling to get away from the caves, and amid the chaos, Bard peered at the enclosure to find it empty. Hoping it was Bilbo who had freed him and not the vile monsters protecting their captive, they looked for the exit.  
  
They were immediately thrown into battle as they came upon a swarm of the beasts near one of the entrances. Bard loosed arrow after arrow, never missing a single shot. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Bilbo and Legolas blink into existence. Again, he filed that away for later and yelled at them to scurry.  
  
At least Legolas was strong enough to run and Calen must have known because he threw him a sword and Legolas caught it fluidly, hacking off an orc’s head in the same motion.  
Dashing out of the cave, they slid and fell down the shaking mountain, clashing with the goblins all the way. They fled as the creatures took chase into the forest and continued until they heard piercing, terror-inducing screeches that drew their eyes to the sky.

Gandalf had come through for them. He'd sent help. 

A flock of Giant Eagles soared towards them and descended swiftly, scattering the orcs, grabbing them in their sharp talons and flying them towards the Forest of Fanghorn. Depositing them on the ground, they soared off and disappeared as if they’d never been there.  
It was the fastest aerial assault they’d ever seen!  
Whoever was left of the filthy goblins scrambled back into their dark lairs. 

The band all stood there silently, staring in disbelief.  
  
Bilbo and Calen patted each other in small victory, and the elf directed his gaze to the freed prisoner.   
Bard and Legolas only had eyes for each other. 

“I am glad you are safe my prince, your father-”

Bard did not allow Calen to finish his sentence. He pushed him aside with a brusque "I appreciate your help, friends. But this can't wait, Calen."   
  
Not a moment later Legolas sighed, inhaling his love's scent deeply as he melted into his welcoming embrace. Bard wrapped his weary arms around the elf who was shaking in relief from inside their cocoon.  
They stayed like that for a minute, not hearing Bilbo clear his throat as he elbowed the elf in the hip, excusing them both.  
Calen looking decidedly surprised as he followed the hobbit to find a discreet place to wait. Bilbo concluded with a faint smile that Bard’s concern- and expeditiousness- made perfect sense. (And had been more than warranted given the display he'd just seen). 

“Bard, I-”

Legolas' message was stifled by Bard’s lips which covered his possessively, arms wrapped around him like iron cords. Legolas finally allowed the tension to fade from - collapsing into him. He kissed away the worry from Bard’s mouth, infusing his every feeling, every thought about the bowman into their soft yet searing touch.  
The raging need, the months of pining... their all-consuming love overtook them. 

Bard kissed him with abandon, like a parched man who had come upon a stream of water. It was a claiming, a declaration, revealing to him everything that he'd held inside since they last saw each other.  
  
They clawed at each other, trying their damndest to become one. Bard yanked on Legolas’ hair, the movement sending currents of pleasure lancing through his body like liquid fire.  
The smell of blood and sweat only seemed to heighten Bard's arousal, causing his cock to swell to nearly painful proportions. His hands ran down the elf’s perfect body, fingers tingling at the tips to grip his round domes.  
Kneading it, he pressed him against his groin, grinding their erections together as he’d done after their competition. They mewled as their cleaved bodies begged for more.

Legolas walked Bard back as they kissed and sucked at each other until cool tree bark became his second skin. He moaned his displeasure as Bard pulled away and nearly came as he pressed his canines to the vein in his neck.  
“I… I missed you,” Bard whispered before he bit down on the tender skin that joined it to his shoulders. They rocked against each other, Legolas’ cock hard and insistent against his throbbing own.  
“I missed you, too, Bard,” it was barely audible. 

This was magic, this thing between them. It was home. Legolas had left his so many times to find a place in the world and now he’d found it in Bard. With this man he never thought about how he felt he’d been born to suffer the injustice of being an outsider, someone with one foot in and one foot out.  
No, he could be _himself_. Legolas.  
Bard accepted him… maybe loved him? for who he was. No questions asked, no compromises. That was true love.   
  
He raked his hands into Bard’s hair as the bowman’s lips went lower and lower, discarding his torn shirt to bare more of his porcelain skin. Legolas sucked in a startled breath as his world tilted – looking down through a lusty filter he saw Bard encircling one nipple with his tongue. 

The pleasure was indescribable, the muscle tweaking it, the heat from his exhales making the rest of him prickle. Pulling his head back, Bard gazed at him from half-lidded eyes. Legolas marveled at his ferocious beauty. His face had lines that marked his years (one would not find such etching on Elves). His hazel eyes gleamed with lust – a libidinous smile tiptoeing across his face.  
  
There was also some other sentiment Legolas hoped he had already guessed right.

Bard blinked. Dragged his thumb over the chiseled bone of Legolas’ flushed cheek.  
“I love you” Bard said thickly, meshing their mouths again. "I meant to say it then, but... "  
“I love you, too,” was Legolas' simple reply. Did they really need to give a speech?  
  
Oh to know the joy of being in the arms of your beloved!   
  
Grasping his hands, he ran them over his broad chest, turning on his heel against the tree and pulling the man against him.  
“I want you, Bard.”  
Coiling them around the elf, the bowman grazed his curled fingers over the stiffened member.  
Eliciting a soft whimper from him, he drew back in surprise at the delicious sound and his breathing puffed, chest pumping like blacksmith bellows.

“I never thought you’d come,” Legolas breathed and Bard left scorching air against his ear. “I thought I was going to die. That no one would come to save me and then I’d never get to tell you how I feel.”

‘But I did my love. I’ll always come for you,” Bard stuttered.  
  
Nudging so that Bard’s erection found its place between his cheeks, Legolas half turned and licked the seam of his mouth.   
“And you’re about to do it again, my dearest Bard,” he declared with a smirk.

Legolas squirmed as Bard shoved a hand down his pants and gripped him firmly. His cock was so moist from the liquid that flowed out of the tip that Bard’s fist slid up and down smoothly, wiping his mind clean of all thought.  
His entire being was focused on that fist as Bard stroked him, his hips jerking in rhythm to the movements, slowly at first, then faster until just as he was peering over the edge.  
The bowman drew back and tugged down his own breeches, the shirt following.  
“Together… we come together… I need to be inside you.”

Legolas was incensed, his body throbbing with the need for release, breaths coming out in quick ragged puffs as he fixed his eyes on Bard’s body.  
It was a work of art, skin darkened from years in the sun, lean muscles, and a taut belly. It was very much like his own, a result of archery and sword training. At Bard’s intent look, Legolas divested himself of his clothes and in seconds, they were both as naked as the dawn.

Throwing themselves at each other once again, they went down to the soft earth as one and writhed in a tangle of limbs. Mouths hot and demanding bodies slick with sweat, Bard palmed his throbbing cock, so needy he wasn’t sure he would last much longer. Flipping Legolas over onto his belly, he rubbed the glistening tip against Legolas’ entrance, the Elf vibrating at the friction, his legs spread as wide as he could splay them.  
“I need you,” he whimpered… “take me, Bard.”  
  
"Heavens," Bard grunted.  
He inched forward slowly and swore at the tightness, nearly losing control as Legolas flexed his opening once the crown was in. The rest disappeared without resistance, so one quick thrust buried the rest to the hilt. 

Both groaned and released the breaths they were holding, Legolas tensed less than he expected. It skirted something surreal- this enveloping sensation of warmth.   
Wanting to remain there just like this, giving Legolas time to adjust to the girth, he rocked slowly and squeezed him tight. Pecking Legolas’ shoulders and nape until he found his lips once more, their eyes met.  
“Can I move?” he asked, the grit in his voice ringing lust.  
Reaching around once more, his head slanted so he could swipe his tongue across his mouth, Legolas nodded.  
Bard extracted himself to the crown without pulling out, and then pushed back in. The rhythm was exacted, timed to make Legolas feel all the pleasure he could from having his gland massaged.  
Swaying his hips in this age-old rhythm, his balls slapped softly against the elf’s cheeks.

“Of all things it was this that I was missing,” Legolas purred. "We should have finished what we started long ago."   
  
Pleasure built within Bard, spreading out from the tip of his shaft through his waist and wrapping around his entire body.  
“Go faster, please… faster,” Legolas begged.   
Legolas was emitting small lust-filled sounds as Bard tunneled into him, his head whipping from side to side, palms buried in the earth. He rocked back into the bowman, wriggling his hips and tightening his muscle, making him delirious at the feeling of closure.  
  
Every inch of Bard possessed him, within and without. Wrapping him in his scents and his powerful arms.

Bard followed Legolas' lead, just like he was requesting with words and body- driving them higher and higher to their peak. He reached around and gripped Legolas’ hard member in his slippery hands, matching them stroke for stroke.   
Their laments filtered through the silent forest – surely Calen and Bilbo would hear if they perked their ears…but they didn’t care, absorbed only in the here and now.  
  
Bending his head, his teeth nipped back on the sensitive spot in Legolas’ shoulder- there would lie his mark at least until Legolas healed.   
A low hum escaped him. “I’m close..." Legolas' lower lip caught on his teeth. "I'm... I'm coming, Bard.”  
  
Foreheads pressed together, Bard let go.“Me too my love.”  
Their releases were met with quiet moans and the sweet tangle of their climax spread between them like a hot wave during high tide.  
Bard spilled his seed into Legolas, the elf into the bowman’s helpful hand.

They lay side by side, the tug of Bard’s sex still twitching inside him. Legolas’ tousled hair spread out beneath them like a fan.  
  
They savored the taste of their mutual hunger, salty and raw on their lips. Deliciously exhausted, their bodies momentarily sated, they remained like this a while longer, lost in the blissful surrender of their unconditional love. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've gotten this far, thank you for taking a chance and gifting me your time. I've been a fan since I was little, and this is one of my favorite ships in the Tolkien world.  
> I hope I've done them justice. This is my first fic for this fandom and I might have tweaked what was necessary to make the story work so please forgive some minor details that may not fit perfectly with canon. Among these changes was me deciding to depict Legolas a bit younger and fresher in his way of speaking.  
> Kudos and comments are encouraged- I love engaging with my readers. The thing most important for me is to deliver a good story with emotion and a plot that keeps you reading. (The sprinkled-in smut is just a bonus). 
> 
> Hope you're all staying safe. Thanks for reading!


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